The Homefront
by What's Worth It
Summary: "I grabbed a blank sheet of paper sitting on the stack with a pen, and began to pound the paper furiously, scratching the white of the page with my spiteful words." Oneshot. What was going through Kathy's mind when she decided to divorce Nix.


**AU/ Hii, this is just a little oneshot I did, I'm still writing Lucky, don't worry! This is my take on what might have been going through Nix's wife's mind when she decided to divorce him. I'm not trying to make her all innocent or anything, you can still hate her if you want (I still do), I was just trying to write with perspective. Please review and help me to fix little, dumb mistakes I made (hey I wrote this late at night)! Thanks if you read!**

**This is not meant to offend any veteran or real people. The characters in this are based on the fictional characters in the mini-series! Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>I can't do it anymore. I fucking can't.<p>

I placed my fingers over my eyelids, which had been free from makeup for who knows how long. The tips of my fingers felt cool and relaxing on my face that was dried with sweat. I needed a minute of peace, only a minute to myself, to escape from the unpaid bills that were scurried in a disorganized mess all over the table; from the documents waiting to be filled in, sent in every fucking day from the Nitration Company; from the screaming kettle; from my two dependent infantile sons; and from my terminally ill Grandmother tucked in the spare bedroom upstairs. All I needed was that small sliver of quiet and serenity, to insure that my sanity was still in tact.

I slowly moved one of my hands to my hair, and ran my fingers through it. It was greasy already. It had been brashly thrown up and probably looked like a bat's nest, yet another sign that I spent nearly no time for myself. Over the past three years, all the beauty, vanity and sophistication that I once kept as a young lady had slowly shriveled away; there were no remnants of my young self to be found, for they had been swallowed by sheer haggardness.

I'm not the girl he fell in love with.

Maybe I was, maybe there was still a small fraction of that happy-go-lucky girl who was so head over heels in love with the tall, dark and handsome young man across the street, with the wicked humor that never failed to make her laugh with a whole heart. Maybe I'm still her, just wearing a mask of gaunt and overworked motherhood.

I'm sure he could tell the difference. Instead of coming home to the bright eyed, smiley girl he had left, he would come home to a grumpy hag-looking woman. If he ever does come home, that is. Who fucking knows, he could get himself killed and I would have to live this way for the rest of my life. Without Lew's monthly pay, I would slowly start to dwindle into poverty. The house would slowly collapse into a dilapidated, maggoty shithole (it was starting to already), and I would be evicted along with my small and budding family.

My eyes jerked open and I jumped in the kitchen chair as the shrieking kettle pierced my ears like knives. Oh no. I quickly leapt up from the screechy wooden chair with the sprightliness of a Nymph, something you wouldn't expect if you saw me. I had to turn that fucking kettle off.

Just as my hand briskly flipped off the burner, I felt relief wash over me, when my ears could not detect the feeble cries of my son from upstairs. He hadn't heard it. My poor baby who barely got any shut-eye every night due to his intolerable sore stomach. Hopefully he could sleep for another hour or so, and reenergize his bouncy and joyous little body.

Abruptly, an overwhelmingly loud and monstrous series of barks and growls made me jump.

Fuck.

I fucking hate that dog.

I scrambled out of the kitchen, and desperately used my ears to find the location of that fucking beast Lew called a dog.

Once I scurried into the living room I was greeted by the huge and snarling Labrador-shepherd who was apparently barking at the air. Fucking stupid mutt, I hated him with all the guts in my system. He was another fucking reason my kids were up all night, that fucking grotesque barking that kept them from dreaming every night.

Lew brought him home from the pound shortly after we were married. Then, I had to let Lew keep him, I couldn't help but feel bad for the poor thing. He was just a measly stray, who barely could scrounge any scraps off the street, and after the pound caught him they were going to put him down, until Lew happened to come on the situation while searching for his sister's dog, who ran away. He offered to take him, and I couldn't say no, to send him back to his death would be inhumane. Lew's big brown eyes filled with desperation also probably attributed to this. Back then I could never say no to Lew.

Things were different now.

"Shut up! Shut up, you fucking idiot!" I hissed at the dog, and tried to grab his collar. The dog tugged away easily, snarling at me viciously. Let's just say our feelings for each other were reciprocated.

The dog continued to bark as loud as I imagined it could, and I had the impulse to smack it. God, I hated it. It was a nuisance; it was always knocking over the boys or scratching them, or stealing Gran's food off her bedside table. And Lew wondered why I hated him so much.

My stomach sank as Harvey started to wail from upstairs.

That fucking dog.

With sudden motivational strength, I grabbed the ugly mutt by the scruff of his collar, successfully this time, and with all the force I had dragged him towards the door. He nipped at my wrist, snarling like he had rabies.

Tightening my grip on him and edging towards the door, I tugged on the handle impulsively and booted the large dog outside, slamming the door just as he got out.

"Get the fuck out of my house," I growled under my breath, as I locked the door.

Harvey's desperate cries drew my attention. Jesus Christ, that fucking dog.

I closed my eyes and let out a deep sigh as I prepared to march up the creaky stairs which were in dire need of repair, which I could not even dream of affording. With two babies to feed and Gran's medical bills to pay, I was on the tight end of finance.

I began to haul myself up the stairs and it felt like I was walking through water, step by step. I'm that fucking tired. I tried to count the hours that I'd slept last night. Between Gran's moaning for water, and Harvey's miserable crying, it rounded off around three. I couldn't blame them. I pitied them with my whole heart. I could feel unmeasured hate crawl up inside of me when I wondered who cursed Gran with that life-sucking disease or Harvey with acid-reflux.

I reached the boy's bedroom to see Harvey's little body standing up in his crib. His chubby hands clutched the crib's bars as if he were a lonely prisoner in a jail cell. His big, brown eyes that were a portrait of Lew's resembled a sad kitten; they were puffy and had tears rolling down them.

My eyes drifted to the other side of the room, where Patrick was still sleeping soundly in his cot. The fluffy blue blanket Gran knitted him when she was well was tucked up around his face snugly, and he looked like a little angel, sleeping so softly. Watching my babies sleep never failed to make my heart melt, yet it always made it sink a little, for their peaceful little faces were shadows of him.

Even though Lew is millions of miles away, I see him everyday. In the boys, their eyes, their hair. The way Patrick laughed, the way he told little jokes. He was almost a reflection of Lew.

I bent over Harvey's crib and lifted his little body, clad in pale blue pajama's out. I was always surprised at how heavy my growing babies were. I hoisted him onto my hip and kissed his wispy black hair that was swept across his forehead.

"Hi baby," I whispered, gently running my hand across his cheek. He rubbed his own eyes and blinked.

"Mama," he said softly, his angelic voice muffled by sleep. My name was one of the few words he could speak so far, and I can bet he wouldn't learn how to address his father in a long time. My morale seemed to spiral away every time I looked into Harvey's face, with the numbing realization that he hadn't met his father yet.

His own father. The man who created him, gave him fifty percent of life, the air that he breathed. This was the baiting reminder that I was raising them without him, with the dooming possibility that I would for the next eighteen years.

Alone.

I doubt that he knows what its like. Loneliness. He's probably out in a German beer garden right at this moment, laughing with his buddies and making love to his Vat 69. Surrounded by men, people who appreciate him. How could he ever be lonely with that?

Now, I, I had earned an outstanding grade in loneliness. I could remember when I had Harvey. I woke up in the middle of the night to Patrick calling me, and in the process of picking him up from his crib I felt the all too familiar sensation of pain cramping up from under the sheath of my balloon like stomach. This was the feeling I dreaded for months and months, and when it finally came I found myself trying to hold back my tears, to swallow away the lump in my throat, trying to push away the question of how the fuck I was supposed to do it without him. I remember gently buckling Patrick in his car seat, ready to drive him to my sister's, while I would drive myself to the hospital.

I remembered the pain. Not just the physical pain, which hurt like fucking hell, just for your information, but there was more to it. The pain that was triggered when the doctor worriedly asked me where my husband was, and how I couldn't answer him, and how I tightly gripped the metal bar of the hospital bed for support when it should have been Lew's hand.

Harvey snuggled into my breast, which tore me away from my thoughts. I brushed his fuzzy hair affectionately, and took another look Patrick, who had not stirred since I entered the room. The three year old would need another solid half an hour before he was able to return to his rambunctious self. Acknowledging this, I crept out of the room, with groggy Harvey wrapped in my arms.

Moving past Gran's room, the sound of chattery voices flowing out of the radio alerted me that she was awake. I shifted Harvey to the other hip, and pressed my fist against the red wooden door, which creaked open with ease. Gran greeted me, and although she looked like a corpse, had the happy radiance of an eight-year-old girl.

"Hi Gran," I started softly, as I stepped inside the room. Through her waxy pale skin and sunken black eye sockets, she beamed at me in a way that I could only describe through a Saint.

"Do you need anything?"

"No sweetheart," she patted her bedside radio affectionately. "I'm quite content with my show, you see."

Her frail body made my heart sink. It was only a matter of time before she went, and no matter how hard I tried there was no stopping it.

"Are you sure? You don't need anything to eat?" I pestered.

She shook her head confidently. "I'm not hungry," she said, and probably noticed the worrisome look spreading across my features. "Go on, feed the baby."

I sighed, and felt Harvey tug on a strand of my hair. "If you insist, Gran."

She smiled at me proudly, before I left the room, gently closing the door behind me.

Once I reached the kitchen, I placed Harvey in his high chair, which prompted him to scream as if he were locked in the electric chair. "Mama," he cried, kicking his miniature feet on the wood. "Mama, no!"

His mood seemed to switch almost instantly as I pulled out his baby food from the icebox, and mixed it in a small bowl for him, garnishing the edges with applesauce before I placed it in front of him. He joyously began to shove the food into his chubby mouth with his little sausage fingers, as if he were a king feasting on a prized goose.

My aching legs neared themselves to the kitchen table, where dread settled in my stomach knowing that I would have to look at the bills. I picked one up with hesitation, and upon seeing the high numbers scream at me, I placed it back down with distress. How the fuck was I supposed to pay it? What Lew sent home nearly wasn't enough to cover even the groceries some days. For all I knew he was spending all his dough on his replacement wife named Vat 69.

I raised my left hand to my mouth and began to chew my thumbnail, a habit Lew and I share. Or, should I say, _shared_. Who knows what he's like now?

Staring at the stack of papers, I could feel anger bubbling up inside me. At my parents, for dumping Gran of to me while they scurried away to Montana to live in personal paradise while I just had another responsibility to mark off on the tally sheet. Immature bastards.

Also I hated him. Lew. How the fuck could he do this to me?

How could he run off to travel the world for two fucking years and leave me to stay in this shit town and manage the house that was falling apart and raise his brood, while he sent home envelopes of money every month which seemed to decrease every time he sent one?

But most of all, what I couldn't comprehend is the fact that he missed the birth of his own child, and has no motivation to meet him.

He's such an asshole.

He thinks I don't know. He thinks that I'd never find out that he had billions of opportunities, billions of free passes waved in his face for him to come home to me. Why, just a few months ago I received a very grateful letter addressed to Lew from a young Lieutenant Peacock, thanking him so dearly for giving him his lottery pass to come back to America.

When he first told me he was joining the paratroops I was so proud, so happy for him. There was so much romanticism with him traveling Europe, gaining life experiences every day.

If he had told me if I was in my current mindset, I'd punch him square in the jaw.

I remember when we met. How I was making my way out of the floral shop where I worked, it was raining buckets, and he offered his jacket to me to protect me from the harsh and cold rain. We made it to the bus stop together and he introduced himself. I was smitten by those big, deep brown almost black puppy eyes that begged for love, as well with his bold personality. He told jokes that no one else dared to say, hell, he even said them in the presence of elders. There was an air to him, a luminous abundance of swagger that he carried with him, and made everyone want to follow in the direction he was going. He was a leader.

A year later, he proposed to me under the beautiful, blossoming cherry tree that stood proudly in his backyard. I accepted with no thought. I was going to marry the man of my dreams, my comedic prince charming.

It appalled me that something that started so sweet could disintegrate so easily.

"_Look at you Lew! You don't even pay attention to him when you're holding him! You pay more attention to the fucking whiskey on the table!" I cried, and could feel the lump rising in my throat. I was so shocked. He was so awkward with Patrick; it was like he was merely his inexperienced uncle rather than his father. I could feel my heart sink as I pondered if he would get better with another baby. I ran my hand over the small, protruding bump between my hips, which was covered by my soft cotton dress. Though the child inside me was growing bigger day by day, Lew didn't seem to notice the rather significant increase in my weight, or the size of my belly and breasts during the short period he had returned from Camp Toccoa._

_He shot me a weary, yet still venomous look. "I would give up the drink, but I couldn't spend an hour with you without it!" He snapped, running his hands through his thick, jet engine black hair. "What's gotten into you lately? You're on my ass for fucking everything!" _

_I massaged my temples. As if he couldn't see._

"_You're so blind Lew," I choked out, my voice sounding more desperate than I expected. I turned to face him. His eyes were narrowly set on the table in front of him, his expression blatantly upset. I hated fighting with him. _

"_Lew?" I tried again, this time more softly._

"_I'd expect a little fucking sympathy Kathy," he growled, taking his eyes off the table and making contact with mine. "You're not the one going off to get shot at in some foreign country!"_

_I closed my eyes. _

"_I'm pregnant again."_

_I opened my eyes to see his expression screaming with pure shock, his skin had turned a ghostly shade of pale. I was what felt like hours until he spoke._

"_You are?"_

_I rolled my eyes. "No, I made that up for fun. Fucking look Lew!" I tugged the material of my dress tight against my skin, so that my small, yet prominent bump was visible. _

_He sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, Kathy."_

Back then I didn't know what he was apologizing for, and now I fully understand.

He did this to me.

He knocked me up, then abandoned me. Fucking jerk.

In a sudden impulse, I grabbed a blank sheet of paper sitting on the stack and a pen, and began to pound the paper furiously, scratching the white of the page with my spiteful words.

_Dear Lewis,_

How fucking cliché.

_I want a divorce. No, we're getting a divorce. I can't do this, I can't handle all this shit. I can't do this alone anymore. I need someone's help, and it's very clear you're not coming back anytime soon so I'm going to find someone else who's willing to help me. I'm sorry, I know you're doing your part in this mess of a war, but you're not doing enough for your wife and kids. The boys need a father, and so far you haven't been one to either of them. I'm doing it for them Lew._

_Kathy._

My palm started to ache as I crossed the T in my signature. I could feel the final notes of anger boiling inside me as I wrote the final installment of my letter.

_Ps. I'm taking the dog._

I leaned away from the letter, and I didn't know why, but I could feel tears stinging the creases of my eyes. Harvey called for me, his hands disastrously messy with food flung all over them. I pulled him out of his chair tenderly, and used a damp cloth to wipe the food of him. As I did, he smiled innocently at me.

Jesus Christ, he looks just like him. This gave my tears more power, and soon they were running down cross my cheeks.

I was alerted by the high trill of the doorbell. This seemed to bring me to my senses. It better not be the fucking pound bringing that mutt back. I briskly wiped the tears away from my face with my sleeve, and placed Harvey comfortably on my hip, wandering to the door.

Upon opening it, I was relieved to see that the dog wasn't back, it was the mailman. I forgot that it was a post day. He was a man a bit on the taller side, with caramel colored curls poking out of his post hat. He had a wide set jaw, and large blue eyes that seemed to stand out under his broad brow. It sounded odd, but I recognized his face, yet a name didn't come to mind.

"Hello!" He chimed whimsically. He shuffled through a few letters and settled on a weather beaten one, with the 101st Airborne Stamp on it. He pulled it out with ease and handed it to my free hand.

"Airmail from Captain Lewis Nixon," he chirped, grinning broadly. Our eyes met for a moment and as strange as it sounds, I felt a rush of adrenaline pump in my stomach. To me, this familiar stranger was quite handsome. I suddenly felt embarrassed to be standing in front of this good looking man in a housecoat with my hair lazily thrown up and no makeup on. I probably looked like an old hag.

He cocked an eyebrow, staring at me with his mouth half open. "Hang on," he started.

"Katherine? Katherine Hall?"

Who was this guy? How did he know my maiden name?

"That would be me," I said hesitantly.

"It's Rick! Rick Shield? We went to high school together, remember?" He asked excitedly, beaming at me.

So that's where he was from! The memories were all starting to drift back to my frozen mind now, I remembered him. He was a year older then I, popular nonetheless. A big track star too.

"I remember now! Long time no see!"

He grinned broadly. "How have you been?"

I sighed. I barely know this guy, might as well be honest with him. "In all honesty, I've been better."

He shook his head, still grinning. "Sorry to hear that."

There was a bit of an awkward pause between us, and Harvey repeated my name a few times, while pulling on my housecoat.

"Well," Rick started again, breaking the tension. "I ought to be going now, nice to talk to you Katherine."

He started down the front steps, and my gut wrenched for me to stop him.

"Wait!" I called. He turned around.

"Yes?"

"Um," I stammered. "Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? You know, catch up on each other?"

To my relief he smiled kindly. "I'm done my route anyway now," he said, gesturing to the empty news bag he carried. "I guess it can't hurt."

I smiled as he jumped up the steps once again, delightfully. I pushed open the door for him and wondered to myself how long it would take me to seal that letter to Lewis and give it to Rick.


End file.
